


Let me count your stars

by Frehior



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Fluff, Freckles, M/M, Other, Polyamory, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-12-07 04:35:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11615985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frehior/pseuds/Frehior
Summary: John Laurens held a galaxy in his body. John Laurens’ freckles were akin to the stars on a galaxy, and they drew in loving eyes from his boyfriends.“They cover you with a perfect pattern, your freckles, my love.”/ Basically it's centered around his freckles.





	Let me count your stars

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is essentially centered about one theme: John Laurens' freckles (or: Anthony Ramos', but, you get it), tbh I just wanted some fluff towards John. Hope you enjoy it :).

 

John Laurens held a galaxy in his body. Every patch of skin covered promised a galaxy of freckles once uncovered. Every freckle was different in size, every freckle promised a different shape, a different shade. It was mind-blowing, really. And it was also breath-taking.

 

John heard it many times, the words uttered in different tones and voices, in different times and places. He’d ear how they would compare his freckles to the stars in the sky, infinite, unable to put a number to it. The stars were bright blotches on the dark blanket the night was, strewn across it, littering the night sky and bringing certain life to it. His freckles, he’d often hear, added a beauty to him, blotches strewn across his skin— his freckles would pepper his cheeks, his nose, his face, they’d reach to his ears, down his neck, over his shoulders and collarbone, they’d crawl down his arms, his chest, and they would cascade down his back, reaching even his legs.

 

John Laurens’ freckles were akin to the stars on a galaxy, Alexander Hamilton would often say, his eyes most of the time wandering across his body, as his fingers trailed behind, softly, as he looked in wonder and awe, whispered how perfect Laurens looked. Some times his eyes would be moving across his face, roaming it as he admired every single freckle he could, smile wide as his eyes shone with something that always had Laurens’ cheeks burning pink; he always recognized that shine to be love, and his heart soared with the same emotion.

 

Other times, though, Alexander Hamilton would cup his face, look him in the eye an whisper sweet endearments, pepper him with kisses until John was giggling, and was asking him to stop. The times he did not stop, Alexander’s kisses would become more fast-paced, and he’d later whisper, with mirth lacing his tone, “I can’t, I want to kiss every freckle on your face.”

 

“You’ve tried many times before, Alex.” John would say, wrap his own hands on Alexander’s cheek, hold him still so he could gaze to those brown eyes he loved so much. “And Alexander, my dear, you’ve failed in your every attempt.”

 

Alexander’s lips would stretch into a smile, and he’d answer, “When has Alexander Hamilton given up on his first try, or on his hundredth try? Imma keep trying, John Laurens.”

 

 

* * *

 

John Laurens would hear the sigh, sounding like someone thinking to themselves what a nice view they had, it was a pleased sigh. And John’s head would turn, and he’d find Lafayette most of the time, staring at him, eyes half lidded, and a small smile on his lips.

 

“You’re a work of art, John Laurens.”

 

And every time, Laurens would feel himself smile wide, blush and turn his gaze away, action that’d make Lafayette’s smile turn even bigger, make him tease him as he wrapped his arms around John’s body, bring him close to his chest, and pressing his lips on the top of John’s head.

 

“A beautiful, wonderful work of art.” Gilbert would whisper lovingly on his ear, nuzzling his neck and carefully putting his hair aside, over his shoulder.

 

Then his lips would grace his nape, make the hairs there stand on end, and teeth would come into the mix, gently nibbling at his skin, lips some times leaving marks in their path as they sucked, tearing soft whimpers from Laurens himself.

 

Whenever there was a patch of skin uncovered, Lafayette would take the opportunity, sliding next to John and running his fingers over the skin, feather-like touch leaving goosebumps on their wake, as they trailed across his skin, a contemplative hum accompanying the touch. John would either feel himself shake with the mixed emotion of arousal and anticipation, or relax into the touch, leaning into it, sighing in content at the attention given.

 

“They cover you with a perfect pattern, your freckles, my love.”

 

And of course John would let himself relax, let any stress of the moment leave his boy as he looked with half-lidded eyes to his boyfriend, smiling sheepishly at him, drinking in the expression he wore. His beautiful eyes, fixed on him, conveying his love before trailing off to follow the path his fingers took, humming in approval to himself as he would sometimes tap a particular freckle that would call his attention, rub a finger over a spot that caught his eye, “Beautiful shape they can take,” Lafayette would say under his breath, speaking about objects that could be seen if you connected specific dots on his skin.

 

Whenever they laid together in bed, and there was enough light filtering through their window, they’d lay facing each other, and he would take John’s hands in his, kissing each of his knuckles with a softness that made John want to cuddle with him. “A perfect work of art, worth of my admiration, indeed.”

 

And John would laugh, because Lafayette had a way with words that John swore could charm even the ones with a stone for a heart. He’d laugh for the joy that filled his body when Lafayette newly found phrase would swept him off his feet, would flatter him. He had a way with words, always coming up with new ways to flirt with him.

 

* * *

 

 

John Laurens appreciates how Hercules Mulligan lets him sit on his lap, lets him lay back and rest his head on his shoulder, he appreciates how he would wrap his arms around his waist, and play with the end of his shirt.

 

He appreciated how the man would always bring up an offer to make some clothes for him— which he took up most times, eager to see with what new attire he could come up for him. It usually let some skin show, something with what he was okay with. He wasn’t by any mean shy of showing some skin. He had used outfits that let most of his leg show, shorts being the most common to let that much skin show. He had wore tank tops that let his arm uncovered, or some times part of his belly. He had even wore articles of clothing that let his back exposed. And in case he did felt uneasy about his attire, he’d always get compliments on how he looked, someone whistling his admiration and an exclamation of how good he looked. He’d soon forget any unrest whenever he presented himself before his partners. Alexander being the one who would take up the part of whistling and throwing unabashed statements on how better he’d look on his knees, receiving a glare and a slap from Lafayette, and Hercules’ comment on how he did not throw in the perfect match for a fashion statement for it to be soiled or torn.

 

There’s acknowledgment from Hercules’ part that he intentionally lets some skin show— a rip through his jeans, pants that stop before or after the knee, a shirt that’s sleeveless, that are strapless and hang from one shoulder or his arms, any chance to get a look at his freckles. He says they make out the finishing touches for the attire, says how well they compliment it, make it better. And John’s okay with that, because it leaves space for fingers to wander along with eyes. Most importantly, Hercules says, it’s how they make his curves more prominent. Says how his hips show.

 

He admits he enjoys the soft caresses that would cross the skin exposed, admits he enjoys the soft kisses pressed against his shoulders.

 

Hercules Mulligan enjoyed cuddling him, and John shared the feeling.

 

“You’re one of the prettiest boys I’ve ever laid eyes on.” He’d said huskily against his ear, chuckling when John’s chest swelled with pride, a sharp inhalation being held.

 

“The prettiest when I rock the outfits you pull together. Pure genius, I tell you.” John would shoot back, and turn on the spot to press a quick kiss to Hercules’s lips.

 

“Your genius, my dear.” Mulligan would reply, aware of how John’s choices of attire were on point, and he’d only add a few extra things, like a belt that would match, or a bag that could hang from his shoulder and not throw the whole vibe off. Heck, even when he was allowed to throw an outfit together for him, John’s addition of a bracelet or collar would just make it all the more perfect.

 

“Guess we have a similar fashion sense.” John would whisper against the other’s lips, smile on place as his half-hooded eyes stared at Hercules. “And goddamn, we do have a good fashion sense.”

 

“I ought to do a Laurens-themed outfit.” Hercules would comment, smiling to him.

 

“Pardon?”

 

“It’ll be beautiful, breathtaking, you’ll see, I’ll cover it in stars. Make it so it catches everyone’s eyes.”

 

And Laurens would laugh, blush on his cheeks as Hercules brought him tighter to his chest, big arms wrapped affectionately around him, making him warmth.


End file.
